Like Ghosts on the Wind
by WelcomeToLondon
Summary: On the night after the Fire Lord falls, Aang dreams of the Spirit World. AU ending to Sozin's Comet.


**Disclaimer: 'Avatar' belongs to the lovely folks at Nickelodeon. I'm just borrowing the characters for a bit.**

**Author's Note: … um. So I revisited the series after about three years. And. This is my first fiction for this fandom. I have no excuses. This is un-Beta'ed. I got the quote at the bottom from Looking For Alaska, by John Green.**

**Read on.**

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><p><strong>[ghosts on the wind]<strong>

**WelcomeToLondon**

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><p>On the night that the Fire Lord falls, Aang dreams of the Spirit World.<p>

He comes to on a hilltop, bright sunlight filtering in through the long and just barely green grass, giving the whole scene a washed out appearance and feel. The soft smell of the sea is carried to him on the breeze, accompanied by the sound of a child's laughter. Nearly unconsciously, he turns his head to the sound, raising a hand to shadow his eyes against the brilliant sun, sparkling against the horizon of the ocean. It is such a stark contrast to the somewhat foreboding atmosphere of the traditional bog setting that he nearly has to catch his breath. He breathes, and lets the other-worldly sun warm his face.

It feels like home.

The child's laughter sounds again, this time accompanied by the gentle whisper of someone else. Laughter once more, like an autumn wind. Aang follows the sound, cutting through the grasses in a heady daze. He likes to think that he knows what will be waiting for him when he crests the hill, but as he witnesses the scene splayed out before him it still feels much like the wind is being knocked out of him.

Down on the sand, accompanied by a tall old man and a proud young woman is a boy, perhaps no older than ten, his raven black hair pulled into a simple top-knot tied by a red ribbon. His smile is brilliant, his rumpled outfit soaked in sea foam and shedding sand when he moves, darting in and out of the surf. The woman, whom Aang deems to be the child's mother – there is an uncanny resemblance between the two, smiles happily at her son, and at his insistence, joins in his play. The man, tall and pepper-haired, nods to Aang, and smiles proudly, and with the previous Avatar's approval, some of the weight that has settled near his heart and in his lungs over the course of the afternoon lessens.

It is still there, of course, but it has become more bearable. He feels like he can breathe again.

As of yet, the woman and child remain oblivious to his presence. Avatar Roku beckons Aang forward, and lays a gentle and soothing hand on his shoulder. "You did wonderfully, Aang," he says, his voice low enough as to not alert the two in the surf.

"I couldn't save him," he replies tersely, his voice breaking and cracking in the way he wishes it wouldn't. He watches the boy play in the surf, his smile blinding like the sun and motions hypnotic, soothing in their hyperactive, childlike joy. He swallows the lump in his throat, and lowers his gaze. "I…" he trails off, squeezing his eyes shut.

"He does not blame you, you know," Roku says after a moment of silence. Aang looks up at his predecessor, grey eyes blinking rapidly. He wipes furiously at his eyes.

"Katara does," he says after a beat of hesitation, then hastens to amend: "Well, no. She blames herself for it. That's worse, actually." He laughs, short and bitter. Roku just sighs, and looks at the rapid path of the sun's descent, casting ethereal shadows all over the beach. He measures the time left before sundown, and nods softly to himself.

"You should speak with him," he said softly, gesturing to the boy and his mother. "Now, if possible. They'd stay out here all night if they could." He says the last with somewhat rueful affection, and gently shoves Aang forward to step onto the sand.

As if she'd sensed the moment his foot had touched the sand – a silly notion for a woman of Fire Nation heritage – the mother's head snaps up and her gaze trains on him. The boy remains fascinated with a shell of some sort, dug up from beneath the sand. His back is turned to Aang, his face hidden from view but his small frame bent around the shell, holding it to his ear and listening to the second ocean hidden inside it. The mother smiles softly, and nods, holding out a hand and drawing him forward. When he is a foot away from the surf and the sun is sending the barest hint of pink blazing across the sky, she speaks, and her voice is like the autumn wind at the Southern Air Temple. Aang closes his eyes and shivers.

"Zuko," she calls out to the boy, drawing her lightweight cotton skirts up to her knees and wading out to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. He looks up, a question in his eyes, and she smiles, crouching down to his level and tucking a strand of hair that had freed itself from his top-knot behind his ear. His perfectly healthy, very much not-scarred ear. Aang's heart swells, and he finds himself smiling at this display of motherly affection. He blinks rapidly, and blames the watering in his eyes on the salt in the air, carried to land on the nightly wind. "He's here."

The boy's – Zuko's – head snaps up, his eyes widening ever so slightly. He turns, and his smile is bright as the sun and the moon combined. He hands the shell to his softly smiling mother, and races through the waves to his friend.

Aang is overcome by his _youth_.

He is three years before the Agni Kai and the scar that once upon a time would have marred his face. His eyes are wide and trusting, curious with an endless, boundless joy for the world. Aang's heart breaks a little, though, when he sees the ever so slight slump of his shoulders and darkness in his eyes.  
>He suspects that he remembers it all; – every – last – moment – of it. His stomach turns violently and abruptly – some form of mercy allowing to keep himself from retching onto the ground, and unbidden the horrific images flit into his mind, almost mocking him in their tenacity to appear <em>now<em>, when Zuko himself is standing not even five feet away.

Zuko continues to smile, perhaps sensing Aang's turmoil, but making no great show of it.

For that, Aang is grateful.

"Hi," he chokes out after the silence seems to stretch into oblivion, heating and becoming itchy and nigh on unbearable.

"Hi," the young Zuko says back, and his light voice is so different from the raspy and determined one that Aang has come to know is so different that he blinks again, and nods absentmindedly. Zuko looks to his mother, who nods sagely and starts walking back up the hill, towards a house that Aang swore had not been there a moment before. Zuko nods at Aang, and points at the house. "Let's go inside," he says. "It's getting dark."

Aang follows Zuko, Zuko's mother, and Roku up the hill and into the warm and welcoming light of the house. They sit in the front room, and a faceless shadow of a servant ghosts in, bearing a tray of tea, and sets in between Aang and the three who sit across from him.

"Thank you," Zuko's mother says graciously, bowing her head as the shadow bows in return and wisps away.

The room falls quiet, the older woman pouring her three guests cups of tea. She hands one to Zuko, who in turn hands it to Aang. He nods in thanks and swallows the lump that has returned to his throat. Zuko sits back, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I thought that tea was Iroh's thing," Aang says, attempting to lift the atmosphere of the room. Zuko's mother laughs softly, sipping delicately at her own cup.

"And who do you think taught Iroh the art of tea-making? He wasn't born with the knowledge, and it certainly wasn't his mother or – Agni rest her soul – his beloved wife who showed him the ways," she says with a gentle smile. "Iroh was a good student, and a wonderful brother to me."

"I bet he was," Aang replies softly, taking a sip of his tea and struggling not to shift under Zuko's stare. He hasn't moved since he handed Aang his tea, and it makes him somewhat twitchy, being underneath that unblinking gold stare.

Silence falls yet again.

This time, it is Zuko who breaks it, with a soft and earnest voice.

"I want you to know that I don't blame you," he says, hands in his lap. "At all. What happened, happened. If anyone's at fault, it's Azula."

Aang squeezes his eyes shut, and chokes on his tea, the hot liquid spilling onto his now shaking hands. A soft sound breaks from his chest, and he curls in on himself minutely. "I should have been there. I – I should have been quicker, and I wasn't. If we'd gotten there sooner, if Katara had gone with you instead of with me…"

His words trip over themselves and grind to a halt. He can't breathe, he can't-

Warm arms encircle him, and a small hand grasps his. Aang opens his eyes to see Zuko's mother, holding him tightly, his face tucked into the crook of her neck. Zuko smiles, and squeezes his hand a little bit tighter. Aang blinks, at a loss for the presence of the warm, stable heartbeat that drums into his chest. He starts to pull away, but Zuko's mother holds him tighter.

It makes no sense.

Across the room, Roku gives a soft chuckle. "That is a lot of 'ifs', Avatar Aang. A mighty lot of 'ifs'."

Aang meets Zuko's eyes. "I do not blame you, Aang. There was nothing you could do."

"You should be Fire Lord by now," he says, his voice hoarse and hitching. "Iroh can do it for a while, but… I don't know what to do anymore."

Zuko's mother finally lets him out of her embrace, settling back to watch him and her son with an amused glint in her eyes. "If it's a Fire Lord you're looking for, I suggest you look at Lieutenant Jee's son. His father raised him well, if somewhat… untraditionally. He'd be a wonderful leader, given a few years of study underneath the Avatar."

Zuko looks at his mother, thought scrunching up his young face in a comical way. "Or he could look into Mai's brother. He's little, sure, but that just means that he's got plenty of time to ensure that he doesn't turn out like Azula."

She nods. "He's certainly got enough noble blood…"

"Regardless," Roku fixes Aang with a kind stare. "Things will work out, young Aang. True, there are many trials ahead; there will be rebellions in the Fire Nation, and there are still those of the Water Tribes and Earth Kingdom who wish the Fire Nation slaughtered for what happened to the Air Nomads," at this, his gaze turns mournful, though his eyes twinkle with an untold secret.

Zuko smirks. "I couldn't feel it before, but… I know now. The world is balancing itself again."

Aang blinks. "… What?"

Zuko's mother tilts her head. "You met the Mechanist, did you not?"

"Yeah… but what does that have to do with anything?"

"They were… off, for a people born of the Earth, weren't they?" Roku says softly. Zuko hides a smile in his mother's sleeve. Aang blinks, and his eyes widen.

"You – you can't mean… do you mean what I think you mean?"

Zuko's mother smiles kindly and impishly. "Even now, in the Water Tribes, Earth Kingdom, and even the Fire Nation, there are children being born who know the air like the Nomads did once, a hundred years ago."

Aang felt his face split into a grin. "That's…" he broke off, at a loss for words. "Wow."

"You're going to have to find them," Zuko warns, seriousness carving lines into his young face. "And then you'll have to teach them. You're going to need to be very, very patient. Many people will not understand air-bending immediately, like you did. It will take time. But give it ten, fifty years, and the Air Nomads will breathe again."

Aang feels like flying, like soaring up into the endless blue sky and laughing, laughing and never, ever stopping because, because – _he's not going to be alone anymore._

They won't be exactly like they were a hundred years ago, he knows. Their skin will be a myriad of tones and they'll prefer other colors to the traditional yellows and oranges. They won't be like Gyatso. But they'll be _Air_, and that's more than enough for him. "It will be okay," he whispers, wonder lacing his tone. "Everything's going to be okay."

"That's the spirit," Zuko's mother says, nudging his chin up with a gentle hand. "Chin up. You'll know what to do."

Outside, the eastern horizon begins to dawn with light. Zuko's eyes are caught by it, and he blinks, as if in a daze, the fire of the sun washing his face in color. He turns to Aang, smiles. "It's time for you to go back."

Aang jumps. "What?" he yelps. "But I just got here!"

"Time moves differently in this place, Aang," Roku says, guiding him to the door. Aang strains to see back into the room, and sees Zuko and his mother, huddled close on the floor of the room, eyes closed as they bask in the predawn glow. A sigh, and their forms blow away, like ghosts caught in a wind. "It is time for you to waken."

The world blows away, and Aang blinks open his eyes to Katara.

He smiles, and her eyes light up.

Everything's going to be okay. And now, he believes it.

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><p><em>'How will I ever find my way out of this labyrinth?'<em>

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><p><strong>[end]<strong>


End file.
